


Biting

by AlexisGreen (thealexmachina)



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Confident Garrus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mild Language, Military, Military Backstory, Military Training, Porn With Plot, Shakarian - Freeform, Smut, everyone is human, garrus - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 14:44:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14474934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealexmachina/pseuds/AlexisGreen
Summary: Garrus leaves a great first impression.





	Biting

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a picture of human Garrus on Tumblr (where else?!?!)

Pozzallo, Italy, 2016

It’s not his voice that stops her in her tracks, although now that the memory surfaces, it’s familiar. It’s the name – Saren Arterius – that catches her ear and now that she watches the argument between the two men, Jane’s floored by the impact. He should not have made an impression. One night five years ago should not have made this much of an impression. There’s a spot at her neck where she remembers him most. He had a thing for biting.

 

Tripoli, Libya, 2011

They meet in the hotel bar. Not surprising since Tripoli has two hotels and a grand total of one bar. Alliance army, mercenaries, contractors and lots of weapons suppliers converge here to catch up with news and rumours, to do deals or to get smashed on pricey alcohol. He’s alone at the bar, whiskey untouched in a glass. Well, not alone, alone. The bar is packed just like any other Friday night. Even so, he stands out. His elbows are propped on the counter, easily tallest person in the room, jacket dusty with sand. More striking is the reflection she sees in the mirrors behind the bar, messy shock of dark hair, eyes blue, steeped in what resembles frustration. She knows it well; she sees it often in her own mirror. For her, it sits at equal distance between disappointment and despair, and she shuffles through these three states so frequently, she knows when someone else is stuck feeling the same.

Jane waits till the seat on his right is free and claims it, along with his attention. “Are you gonna drink that or let good whiskey go to waste?”

He looks at his glass before he turns to her. “You’re assuming Corinthia has good whiskey. None of that in this forsaken hole. Want it?”

His voice is scratchy like he either hasn’t used it in a while or spent hours shouting; whichever it is, he hasn’t shut her down. Jane points at her own glass. “Thanks, I’ve got my own. Wouldn’t mind some company with it though. Jane Shepard, Alliance military.”

She extends her hand and he shakes it once. “Garrus Vakarian. Citadel.”

“Government contractor?” Jane’s late in masking her surprise. Field Ops looks more like his speed. The hand that shook hers suggests at least as much.

“Book, cover. You know how the saying goes.” His focus is now on his drink, shoulders stiffer than before. That is until he downs his drink in one go and turns blue eyes to measure her. “And what do you do, Jane Shepard with Alliance military?”

“Training. At least for the next few years. I’m leaving for Arcturus tomorrow morning. 6am sharp.” There’s no hiding her displeasure at the early ship off. She’s never been a morning person and the military hasn’t punched it out of her yet.

“N7 then? Good for you.”

He manages to surprise her again; not a lot of people know about the brutal training to join special forces. That’s fleeting quickly because there’s a definite interest in his eyes now and damn, she hopes it’s aimed at herself and not the prestigious program. There’s only one way to figure it out. “Yeah. Care to ditch this forsaken hole and make this night memorable?”

It’s dangerous and reckless and both of them know it. Libya is the last place on Earth to start fucking around with strangers. She knows her own motives and, when he stands up extending her a hand, she wants him enough that she doesn’t question his.

They fumble through the hotel room doors; she slams against the wardrobe, hands trembling in his collar. His body follows her, presses into her. Lips meet in hurried kisses, hungry kisses, wet and hot and demanding. There’s zero coordination, just clash of teeth and swipes of tongue, but neither cares. Jane pulls his jacket off. Garrus swipes a hand down her chest, shoving her tags over her shoulder, grabbing at her tshirt and pulling it down along with her bra. His hand is cold, his fingers rough and they scratch her skin. Underneath them, she grows hot though, breathless for more. She’s never been shy in the bedroom, so she goes for more, hand straight to his cock, hard below his belt.

That’s when he bites her, first her bottom lip, quickly swallowing her gasp with a pull of his mouth. Then her neck, not just a nip, but good and proper sink of teeth, tongue tickling the skin beneath. She whimpers as the first shock of pain bottoms, focus bouncing from his mouth to his wicked hand that moves from her tits to navigate her jeans and thong with precision. Jane knows exactly what he finds underneath once he pops the buttons, because his bite relaxes and now he noses up to her ear, side-eyeing her for reactions when he shoves two fingers inside her cunt. God she’s wet and she’s glad he knows what he’s doing. The Alliance is full of good looking soldiers who can’t wait to get their dick serviced. It’s nice to be with someone who’s focused on her for a change; she can even enjoy the biting, she thinks, as his fingers push into her, thumb confidently rubbing her clit.

Garrus is watching her, one elbow slanted on the wardrobe, just above her head. She’d be lying if she doesn’t admit his height is both intimidating and a turn on, the way he towers over her, foot knocking her own apart to give him more room for manoeuvre between her legs. She tries to reassert some control, encouragement to move along, oh god they haven’t even made it to the bed and he’s already better than any lover in recent memory, but he’s biting her again, leaving another mark at the top of her collarbone, pinning her in place. A growl rises in his chest as he does it, hips still, erection hard against her waist. She’s still fully dressed when she comes, eyes screwed shut, his teeth at her neck and fingers jackhammering a blinding orgasm out of her.

He's kissing over the skin his teeth abused as her breathing calms. His fingers are still inside her cunt, but they’re unmoving now, his thumb fluttering against her mound a couple of times. He means to remove his hand, she feels it and she grabs his arm to hold him there. His blue eyes look surprised when he tries to read her; a swipe of blue paint still lingers at the top of his cheekbones, despite the sweat gathering there. Others have been wearing paint too, new issue for anyone in the dessert, for heat protection, both sun and IEDs. His is the only one blue though; Jane wonders why. Guess it doesn’t matter. For now, she’s not yet decided whether to talk or to kiss him. She ends up doing both, smashing her mouth to his and asking for more all in the same push.

Moving an arm under her ass to support her and still cupping her cunt, Garrus carries her further into the room. The corridor lights that sent a faint glow into the hallway are gone here and darkness is heavier around them. It takes her seconds to adjust her eyes, perched on the edge of the bed, and by then he’s moved his hands away from her. She strangely misses his mouth on her neck the most, the possessiveness rolling out of him that makes her forget this is a one-night thing. No one gets too attached in the army, but if she weren’t shipping out tomorrow, she knows she could be persuaded to fuck him again. Jane looks forward to more of that tonight and he seems to agree, because he’s stripping in front of her, methodical and confident. It’s the sound of his belt hitting the floor that sends her into motion, pulling her tshirt over her head, unhooking her bra at the back. He gets to help, kneeling in front of the bed, pulling her boots off, then her jeans and underwear and socks. The way he looks at her, she thinks he can see her arousal in the dark, smell the moisture that has started to stain the bed covers under her cunt. And he probably can, because her nipples are tight as she runs a hand over her chest, and the room already reeks of sex around them.

He kisses her first, a little gentler than before. Fuck gentle, Jane thinks, so she bites him this time. First a nip to the tongue and then several more at his lips, until that growl is back and he flips her on her stomach, further up the bed. She feels him crawling over her, feels his cock dragging on the inside of her thigh, catching its tip briefly on the underside of her ass, then bouncing above, dripping hot precome in its wake. As his teeth find the back of her neck, she can’t stop the shivers along her spine. Jane bumps him with her ass, rubbing against him, until his hand stills her hips. Lips leave her neck, kisses drag over her shoulder blades, on her lower back; she’s still caught by surprise by the vicious bite he gives her left ass cheek, but by the time he shoves his face between her legs, he’s all lips and goddamn talented tongue. She fists the pillows above her head, body already throbbing for another release. Which takes a while because he’s taking his time tasting her, exploring her lips and her clit, sometimes light, other times determined; her mind too hazy with pleasure to protest too much, although when his fingers join in, she’s more than happy to show her approval. Jane lifts up to her knees, pushing right in his face. With sucks and pulls of his lips on her clit, and fingers curled deep inside her, she comes again, convulsing against him, held up by his arm and adrenaline and dopamine flooding her.

Behind her, he’s putting on a condom, soldier through and through. Held up by some miracle, Jane’s still on her hands and knees, aching for him inside her fast, aching for his teeth wherever. And he gives it to her, cock sliding smoothly in her cunt, wet heat all around. His hands anchor her to his hips. He moves with intense precision, an economy to the slap of his thighs against hers designed to fuck her over and over. He finds the chain around her neck, he pulls it until it drags her backwards, forces her to straighten along his chest. One hand now holds the front of her neck, loose yet firm. The other is back between her legs, teasing. He slams against her ass, again and again, focused, and she doesn’t need to worry about anything, not about pleasing him – his teeth back at her neck tell her he’s plenty pleased – not about tomorrow or making it through the next five years. She can just be Jane Shepard, here with him.

 

Pozzallo, Italy, 2016

Garrus looks older of course, though weathered feels more like it. Tanned like only soldiers drilled through desserts are, deep amber colour burned permanently into skin. There’s a smattering of dark stubble of indeterminate age, more scars on his face than she remembers, and blue smudges of paint under his eyes still familiar five years later. She abandons her earlier plans; she needs to know how do Garrus Vakarian of Citadel and Saren Arterius, possible rogue Spectre, factor in the same equation. More memories rush over her skin, fresh as today’s shower. Yeah, he had a thing for biting.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Always appreciate feedback.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, check out Killing Field, which picks up Jane and Garrus' story five years down the line.


End file.
